


When Marshall Met Mary

by pipisafoat



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Marshall can do not to laugh audibly as he crouches in front of the bag again, suddenly aware that he's doing his job without pants on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Marshall Met Mary

The first thing Marshall realizes when he sees his target is that her file did not do her justice. She's more alert, more deadly, and more attractive than any stack of papers could have told him. He hastily looks away and takes a swig of coffee as the blond turns to him, and by the time he looks back, she's out of sight. Cursing, he reaches for his phone to tell his boss he's lost her.

Two days later, Marshall is sitting outside her motel, waiting for her to make her move. His witness is being relocated the next day - even he doesn't know where - and it's his job to make sure she doesn't find out for as long as possible. The more time his colleagues have to erase the paper trail, the less likely it is that she'll find him, and until Marshall learns who she really is and why she's looking for James, it's his job to keep her from tracking his upcoming move.

He sees the light go off, watches her draw the curtains, and settles in for a long night. If he's lucky, she'll do it tonight. If not--

She'll knock on the window of his car when he never even saw her leave the room. Fuck. He takes a deliberately slow sip of coffee before rolling down the window.

"Now what I can't figure out is if you're some kind of cop, following the worst lead ever, or if you're just a boy I turned down at a club, stalking in hopes of the best sex of your life."

Marshall sputters and sets his cup down carefully. "I don't stalk."

"No? What is it you call following me around, undressing me with your eyes, taking notes?" The wind whips her hair into her face, and she tosses her head to move it.

"I'm an artist," he answers, wildly grasping for the first thing to cross his mind. "Just sketching a beautiful woman. That's all. If you want me to leave, I'm gone." Even if she doesn't want him to leave, he has to go before she figures out the truth.

"Show me," she demands, pulling the notebook out of his hands before he can stop her. He cringes and opens the car door.

"Okay, you caught me." Her pause is just long enough for him to snatch the book back and toss it on his seat. "Tuesday night. Launchpad. You turned me down in favor of the Mexican."

She eyes him, the notebook, the car. "I can see why." Marshall winces as she continues, "But you're in luck tonight. My date just canceled, but I still have reservations. Go home and put on a suit. Pick me up at 6:30. We're going out."

"Tonight?" He sits back in the seat, stunned. "We're going out tonight?"

She sighs. "What, you have a problem with me taking you somewhere nice on Valentine's Day when we aren't dating?"

"No." He shakes his head and swings his legs back into the car. "It's just short notice."

"Six thirty. Look presentable. I'll be waiting." She pushes the car door shut and turns abruptly on her heel. Marshall swallows hard as he watches her hips sway away from him, then shakes himself and starts the car.

"Stan, we have a situation."

His boss is just a little too delighted to call Marshall's partner away from her dinner to keep eyes on their newest security concern. Marshall promises to make it up to her as he speeds away from the motel, already searching his closet in his mind, looking for the right suit for a date with a possible assassin.

"So, you're … not from around here," he starts awkwardly as the waiter brings their drinks.

She nods slowly. "Brilliant deduction."

"I'm not … I just … I'm just not very good at this," he replies defensively. "As you so deftly pointed out, I'm not exactly the kind of guy who gets picked up by girls out of nowhere. Definitely not girls who haven't even told me their name."

She smiles but doesn't answer.

"Hi, I'm Marshall. It's nice to meet you, Anonymous. Do you have a nickname I could use?" He extends his hand across the table, and she takes it with a laugh.

"I swear, the second you call me Nonny, I'm leaving your ass here with the check."

He shrugs. "You'll have to give me something to call you."

"Sweet-tits."

Marshall can't help but color, and his date laughs again. "I … uh … I…."

"Mary."

"Mary." He squeezes her hand gently before releasing it and taking a sip of wine. "Happy Valentine's Day, Mary. Sorry I didn't get you a card or chocolates, but I didn't know what kind you liked, and it seemed like bad taste to make out a card to 'Woman who accosted me in the parking lot.'"

"That's okay. I don't do sappy romantic holidays." Her face darkens, and Marshall frowns to himself.

"What do you do? For a living, I mean."

Mary shakes her head. "Don't go getting too personal over there," she warned.

He laughs. "How terribly personal. It's not like I asked you what your darkest secret is - unless, of course, you're a superhero. Here, let me show you how this is done." He mock-bows at her and grins. "Hello, Mary. It's nice to meet you. My name is Marshall. I work in web design. You're quite a lovely woman; would you care to go out to dinner with me sometime?"

"Hello, Marshall," she says, inclining her head at him in return. "It's really weird to meet you. My name may or may not be Mary, and I won't tell you what I do for a living. You're the nerdiest man I've seen in a while, and you're really only here because it's embarrassing to show up alone with a reservation for two."

He nods and shrugs. "It's not the first time I've been this guy. You'll find this is a role I'm quite good at."

"And if I decided to change the role?" She leans forward challengingly, and Marshall suddenly shivers.

"I can, uh, improvise."

She smiles ferally and sets her hand on top of his on the table. "Good to know."

* * *

"I don't really cuddle," she tells him, rising smoothly from the bed. "I'm going to shower while you sleep or whatever. Don't try to come join me; I hate shower sex."

"Mmmm." He rolls to his side and watches her go in the bathroom. "Should I leave while you're in there?"

She hesitates in the doorway. "If you like, but it's not necessary. You should probably shower before you put that suit back on."

"Yeah." When she still doesn't move, he decides to push his luck. "I much prefer a morning shower, though."

"Whatever."

The door clicks shut behind her, and he grins, digging his phone out of the pile of clothes on the floor. _No need for overnight shift. I'll be late tomorrow. Radio silence in five._ He puts the phone on vibrate, sets it on a pillow, and gets up to look around the room.

Stan's reply comes as Marshall finally locates his target's bag. _I hope you know what you're doing._ It's followed almost immediately by _And I mean that in the least sexual way possible._ It's all Marshall can do not to laugh audibly as he crouches in front of the bag again, suddenly aware that he's doing his job without pants on. He shakes off the awkward feeling and turns his focus to the bag, careful to keep an ear on the shower.

It's just as he expected - there's a whole stack of papers on James, topped by one current photo and, bafflingly, another from before he'd entered the program. He checks the other pockets of the bag carefully, but there's no sign of a weapon. He freezes as a sudden thought occurs to him - what if she's got it in the bathroom? What if she comes out and….

He jumps up and stands by the window, peers out between the blinds as he takes a steadying breath. He's in shape. He's fast. And he's trained for this. Granted, he wasn't naked during training, but he's still sure he can overpower her when--

The door opens, and he whips around, prepared for the worst. Instead, he finds Mary toweling her hair. "You want to rinse off while I dry this?" she asks, unaware of his thudding heart.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. That'd be great." He edges cautiously past her into the bathroom, clicking the door shut as she pulls a hairdryer out of her bag. She doesn't seem to suspect that he's been in it, and he sighs in relief as he turns the shower as hot as it'll go.

There's no gun hiding among the towels, and Marshall isn't sure if that makes him feel better or worse. She's either the best assassin he's ever seen or all their intelligence on her is wrong. Neither is actually all that reassuring, but the sight that greets him when he leaves the relative safety of the bathroom is distracting enough for any man.

"Do you do this often?" he asks as her fingers disappear inside her.

"Do you?" she replies, irritated. "I wouldn't have to if you didn't take four-hour showers." When he doesn't move, she sighs. "Are you going to help or what?"

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, lets his hand smooth up her thigh. "I meant show up in a random town and pick up a random guy you've already turned down. Do you do that often, that's what I was asking."

"Do you insist on having a conversation during sex often?" she retorts, slapping his hand off her leg. "There are much better things you could be doing with your mouth."

Marshall grins and leans in to kiss her. "Just wondering," he murmured.

"Not your place to wonder."

"My place to fuck?"

"Now you've got it." The smile in her eyes makes him kiss her again, and he's not surprised when she finally answers the question. "Not so often, no, though it seems to be one of the benefits of being on the road."

"Traveling for work?" he asks, letting his mouth wander down her body slowly in an effort to keep the answers forthcoming.

Mary shrugs. "More … visiting family."

"Got a hot sister you should be calling to come join us?" He smirks from somewhere around her belly button, and she slaps the back of his head.

"My dad. You want to call him?"

Marshall shudders dramatically. "I'll be okay."

* * *

"Stan, she _doesn't have a gun._ I'm not saying she isn't looking for him, because she pretty clearly is, but I don't know that she's all that dangerous. Besides, if he's been relocated…"

"As long as we don't know her _name_ , she's still under surveillance. You know that."

"And it's my job to keep her from finding out that he's been moved or where he is." Marshall sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I get it, okay? I just have a feeling she isn't what we think."

Stan laughs. "Well, that wouldn't be too hard, seeing as how we don't have a _clue_ what she is."

"I'm just saying, there's a different sort of method when you're not dealing with an international assassin."

The older man sighs, then shrugs his shoulders. "Alright. Fine. Do it your way. It's not like she hasn't already made you."

* * *

He accidentally-on-purpose runs into her ten minutes later at the deli down the street from her hotel, not even bothering to tell the inspector watching that he can go back to the office before whisking Mary out of the shop. "Trust me, there's a much better one just around the corner," he says, amused at how little resistance she's putting up.

"Any other girl would think you were following me," she complains, and he just grins, careful not to stare at the security camera. His idea is a long shot anyway, but he'd rather not ruin it by tipping her off.

"Maybe I am. This could be my only chance to fulfill a childhood dream."

"Of having the pretty girl?"

Marshall winces. "That, too."

She sighs. "What were you going to say?"

"Nope. Not going to tell now." His answer is one raised eyebrow, and he gives in immediately. "When I was five, I wanted to be a Private Investigator."

"Not a cop?"

"The police were never really my thing," he answers honestly, and she lets out a single breath of laughter.

"Good choice. I've never met a cop with a decent head on his shoulders."

Marshall shrugs. "I know exactly one. He'd like you."

"What makes you say that?" she asks suspiciously.

"You're a hot blonde."

"Gee, way to make me valued for my intelligence and skills."

He raises one eyebrow and smirks. "Part of being hot is having certain skills."

"Shut up."

"As you wish." He eats his sub in silence, glad when his phone rings with just one bite left. "Scuse me," he says, stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth, retreating to the far corner of the restaurant, and flipping open his phone. "Marshall."

_"We have a situation. Get back to the office. Now."_

"Stan, I'm out with--"

_"Exactly. Get back here."_

"Well, who's coming to--"

_"Inspector, that's a direct order."_

Marshall looked at his phone in surprise, thinking that he could count on one finger the number of times Stan had ever said that or hung up on him.

"What's up?" Mary asks when he returns to the table.

"I don't really know. I've got to go. Emergency call from … a client."

"Right." She eyes him suspiciously but just shrugs. "I expect I'll see you around."

Marshall grins. "It sounds like a good idea to me, at least. Won't you be seeing your dad today, though?"

"You never know with him," she replies, standing abruptly and gathering their trash. "Go meet your client and fix your little website."

* * *

"She's a Marshal," Stan says, jabbing a finger at his computer.

Marshall scrambles to the other side of the desk to look over his boss's shoulder. "No shit. Fugitive Task Force. What's she doing hunting my witness?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm willing to bet we're about to be either commended or reamed out by the higher-ups."

"You didn't."

Stan nods. "I had no choice. Allison Pearson is on her way over right now."

"Stan…."

"The order probably came from above her pay grade, but she can at least make some noise."

"Wait a second." Marshall steps back and spins Stan's chair to look him in the eyes. "You're telling me you think Mary was sent here to test our security? We've got one of the best records in the country at this office."

"Maybe they think it's a fluke?"

"Maybe they think we're cheating and using magic." Marshall laughs and looks up as the door opens. "She's not a test."

"Who's not a test?"

"Allison, hi." Stan offers her his chair and flips to a different screen. "You remember James Watson."

She nods. "The one you just relocated."

"Well, it turns out there was a, ah, a slight misunderstanding in his case." Stan pauses and looks to Marshall for help, but the younger man just shrugs. "You see, the … the woman who was tailing him … the possible threat? She seems to be employed by the Marshals Service."

"Which doesn't mean she's here on official business," Marshall says quietly.

Allison raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you saying that you think a Marshal would go AWOL and hunt down protected witnesses for fun?"

"I'm saying she's not in Witness Protection. She doesn't have access to his file. Maybe she has a reason for tracking him down."

"Like what?"

"She says she's in town to visit her dad."

"She says?"

"Marshall has had to take a slightly different approach with Ms Shannon," Stan interjects.

"Shannon?" Marshall spins and nearly sprints to his computer. "Oh, God."

Allison leans over his desk as he types. "Are you telling me that you had contact with a possible security risk?"

"Good thing, too," he replies, swiveling his monitor. "James Wiley Shannon, our very own James Watson's first WITSEC name. Married and had two kids - Mary and Brandi - in his first nine years, then was busted for bank robbery and got a fresh deal, was relocated without his family, and finally wound up in Albuquerque a year and a half ago." Marshall glances up. "She's in town to visit her dad."

"I thought you kicked witnesses out of the program if they were arrested," Allison says absently. "What makes this guy so special?"

Stan shrugs. "It's ultimately not our call. If the higher-ups want his testimony on the new crime badly enough … Anyway, he wasn't a criminal when he first came in, so maybe that factored in some. I'm more curious about him not bringing the family in with him."

"Maybe it wasn't part of the deal. Maybe he wanted a fresh start away from them. Who knows?" Marshall sighs. "I guess now we call New Jersey and tell them we've found their Marshal."

"Done. Her direct supervisor said she was on vacation until the end of the week."

"I told you she isn't a test."

Stan raises his hands defensively. "She still could be! Maybe it's just an order from higher up."

"I would know about something like that," Allison interjects. "Or I should, at least. Let me make some calls. In the meantime, work under the assumption that this isn't a test - and that she's still a threat to your former witness."

"Damn it, Stan!" Marshall says, shoving his chair forcefully back under his desk. "And I left her alone at the deli. Unless … Did Simmons come back, or is he still there?"

* * *

_Marshall-_

_If you're planning to stop lying, I'll be back at 7 pm._

He kicks the door petulantly and looks at his watch. Six hours, with Simmons tucked cozily behind his desk. Six hours of having no idea where she could be. Of hoping she gets caught using one of her credit cards they aren't tracking yet. He freezes suddenly and leans closer to the door. Was that movement, a jump when he kicked, or....

"I know you're in there." He has nothing to lose if he's wrong. Sighing, he rests his forehead against the doorframe. "I heard you jump."

The door flies open, one hand gathers a fistful of the front of his shirt, and he's hauled inside, shoved against the wall. "You're a real jackass," she practically spits.

Marshall shrugs. "You lied. On your door just then."

"Better on a door, about being out, than about my job." She steps closer, holding him against the wall with her body, hands wrapped around his wrists, and he can't help himself. He fights her grip just enough for it tighten, then leans forward and catches her mouth with his own.

She pulls away almost instantly, but not quite, and Marshall struggles to keep his grin to himself. "Sorry," he offers blandly. "Didn't mean to ruin the mood or anything. By all means, get back to verbally spanking me."

Mary narrows her eyes at him, releases his wrists. "Would you prefer a physical spanking?" She yanks him off the wall suddenly, shoves him towards the bed, keeping him just unbalanced enough that he lands exactly where she pushes. "Because that could be arranged." She climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs, and puts one hand on the back of his neck when he shifts.

He stills immediately, too aware of dangerous holds for his own good. "What exactly is happening here?" he asks the bed, repeating the question when she eases her grip enough for him to turn his head.

"Well, sweetheart sugar ass, that remains to be seen." She presses harder for a second before letting both of her hands trail slowly down his back. His only movement is a slight shifting of his arms, further away from his body. She hums in approval. "Tell me, exactly how hard are you?"

"Not at all." The smack that lands on his ass makes him jump. "Something about having my life threatened just doesn't do it for me. In the interest of full disclosure, since that seems to be a bit of a sticking point for you, I was just a minute ago, on the wall. As you already know."

"That's the kind of answer I like. Now do that when you tell me about your job."

He doesn't tense up. "I'm in web design."

Her hands slide easily into his back pocket. "Anything you'd like to add to that?" When he doesn't answer, she flips open his wallet and goes through it. A moment later, the wallet lands on the bed by his head. "No condom."

"I'm not a gigolo."

A short snort escapes and she slides off him, sitting by his hip. "That may be one of the wisest career choices you've ever made. Not many clients would enjoy you bringing a gun to lunch." He flinches as she leans over and reaches under the bed. "Roll over."

He does, and she cuffs him to the headboard. He pastes a lecherous grin on his face. "I don't suppose this is the part where--"

"Shut up." She pulls a laptop out from under the bed and sets it on his stomach. "You so much as think of going anywhere...." A knife drops onto his sternum.

"No worries. I'm not too good at picking locks. Trust me, I sort of regret that now."

She taps quietly on the keys for several minutes, then looks up and smiles. "With a job like this, when exactly do you find time for web design?"

Marshall shrugs. "You'd be surprised the things I find time for. It's all about priorities. With a job like yours, when do you find time to--" His phone rings suddenly, and he falls silent as she pulls it out of his pocket.

"Stan," Mary says. "Your 'client' from earlier, I presume." The look on her face tells him that she knows exactly who he is. "Something tells me you'd better answer like nothing's wrong." He nods as she flips it open and turns on speakerphone, setting it on his chest beside the knife.

"Marshall," he says, and she nods approvingly at his voice.

"She's not a test. Allison checked all the way up. Marshall, this is the real deal."

"Told you so," he says mildly. "When this is over--"

Stan snorts. "Cranberry blueberry pomegranate okay?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Insane. Certifiable." The phone lets out a clicking sound, and Mary snaps it shut.

"Cranberry blueberry pomegranate?"

Marshall shrugs. "He owes me a pie - homemade - for me being right. I like to make him work for it. You can't tell me that sounds bad."

"Hmm." She studies him for a minute. "A test."

"See, this is awkward. I understand your desire for me to tell you everything, and I do have a vested interest in going along with it, but there are things I can't tell anyone, so...."

"You're in witness security." She waves a hand dismissively. "A test?"

"A test. Of ... my ... how well I ... do my job." He tries to shrug, but he's sure the handcuffs made it look more like a worm wiggling. "I still can't tell you some things."

She nods. "You think I'm a threat to the security of one of your witnesses. A test sent by the higher-ups. Is that something they do often?"

He smiles at the genuine curiosity in her voice. "I've never heard of it before, no. Why, you want to apply for the job?"

"I'd be good." She reaches up and unlocks the cuffs finally. "In case you're getting any funny ideas, you're not going anywhere." She props her foot on the bed, just out of his reach, and gives him a flash of the gun strapped on her leg.

"Not your standard issue weapon."

"I don't leave town on my own business with it, but I always bring this one. Just in case." She shakes her pants back over it and gets off the bed, sets the computer on the dresser. "Talk, Marshall."

He shakes his head even as she crosses her arms and leans against the wall. "I _can't_. If you're not a test, the next logical conclusion is that you're an actual threat to the security of one or more witnesses. Until I know that's not the case, I can't tell you anything. You've not done a whole lot for yourself on that count," he says with a grin, picking up the knife still on his chest and pushing himself up to sit against the headboard.

"You don't plan to tell me anything no matter what I say to you." Mary shrugs and pulls a chair over to the foot of the bed.

"If what I think is the case _is_ the case, then yes, I will share some information with you. I don't have all the information you want, though, and you'll have to trust me when I tell you that."

"Deadlock," she mutters.

Marshall sighs and leans forward, careful to leave the knife behind him. "I do want to help you," he says as earnestly as he thinks she'll believe. When she props her feet on the bed and slouches in her chair, he wraps one hand lightly around her ankle. "For some reason, I like you. And I think you got the short end of the government stick thirty years ago." He looks at her meaningfully, and she laughs, an almost hollow sound.

"You already know my story."

"One version of one part of your story. I need to know, you know, this part." He waves his unoccupied hand vaguely, and the laugh sounds a little better this time.

"You're living this part."

He rolls his eyes, smiling. "How about you start with why you're in Albuquerque."

She frowns and pulls her leg out of his hand. "How about not."

"Mary--"

"You're WITSEC," she says again. "You think I'm a security threat. Either you're frighteningly incompetent, or my father is your witness. _Was_ your witness; you've probably relocated him by now. Not like the Boston crew."

Marshall winces. He'd read about that incident when James first came to Albuquerque. "Boston is exactly the reason why you shouldn't have come here."

"Do tell." Her tone is carefree, but he can see the tension in her posture.

"You found him," he says, with a little respectful nod in her direction. Regardless of which Marshals were protecting him, that's a feat not easily accomplished. "You're better connected than the guys who were after him, and they seem to have figured you out before we did."

"Score one for the criminals," she mutters, then waves a hand for him to continue.

"Long story short, they followed you to him."

Silence reigns for a long moment. Mary scratches her kneecap.

"We figured it was a lucky break."

"Yeah, well, it was." She scowls at him. "Tell me, Marshall, when did you find me?"

"You came to town on the twelfth," he answers promptly. "Inquiries led us back to you the day before."

She scowls harder. "Fine. You're good, for WimpSec."

"But you have something against the entire department because somebody made a decision thirty years ago that took your father and left you behind."

Mary shoves herself to her feet. "You don't know me."

"So tell me," he says mildly.

"This isn't about me."

"It has to be about you." Marshall sighs loudly and props his elbows on his knees. "Jesus, Mary, I want to help you, alright? But you're going about this entirely the wrong way. I need you to give me a reason to trust you before we can talk about your father."

She glares at him and goes to look out the window, through the blinds. "You're already talking about him, moron."

"You are entirely too prickly. Look, I know you're not going to kill me, and you know I'm not going to walk out the door - because I can't _trust_ you not to do something stupid like try to follow him again. Lose the gun and sit back down. There's nobody out there. You've got about an hour before Stan starts wondering what I'm doing. Personally, I'd like to have something worked out by then."

"Here's the flaw in your logic," she says to the window. "You're here because you don't trust me. The second I start to look trustworthy, it's over. You're not helping me like you say, you're out the door. So no, I think I'll hold onto the gun for now." The blinds snap shut as she spins to face him. "At least it's still in its holster. Don't be a baby about it."

Marshall frowns and drops his head to stare at the floor, scrubbing hands through his hair. "Nothing like a good stalemate, huh."

"I'm not trying to get anyone killed. I just want to see my father. You say whoever's after him will follow me to him, I say I can handle them if they do. I'm not going to stop looking, Marshall. You'll have to lock me up first."

"You're very good at finding him," he tells the carpet. "I want you." Mary grumbles, loudly but wordlessly, and Marshall jerks his gaze to her face just in time to see the eyeroll. "Not like that! I mean, you'd be fantastic at this job. At my job."

"Better than you," she mutters, dropping back into the chair. "Nobody would approve a transfer to WITSEC after this, though. I'll be lucky to stay where I am."

He makes a vague noise of agreement, dropping his chin into his hands.

"What?"

"You're right ... except maybe you're wrong."

"Helpful."

"Maybe we can make it look different. Maybe we can say we requested you come test our security. No, not after we just spent so long looking to see if you were a test. Something. Stan can come up with something. You need this job."

She kicks his ankle, a lot harder than he would have expected her to. "I'm not a damn charity case."

"I want you in WITSEC." Marshall shrugs as he rubs his ankle.

"And why would I want to be part of WimpSec? If your Stan can spin it so I can get this job, he can spin it so I can keep my real job."

"Because...." Marshall grins at her. "You'll know where he is. You'll have access to the back channels - you could write to him any time you wanted to. We could set up secure meetings occasionally, let you see him without anyone dying. And because you'd like it a hell of a lot more than you think."


End file.
